


December 8 - 17 cunning corsairs

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi-Age, Other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2005-12-02
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today's writing "mathom" is:</p><p>17 cunning corsairs</p><p>***</p><p>Write whatever you feel like – a drabble, a poem or a short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Captives and Captains

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Denethor looked up in astonishment. "You have captured sailors out of Umbar? Alive?" Gondor's reputation for harsh treatment of foreign prisoners was much exaggerated, but it served its purpose, and those peoples who made war against her were rarely taken alive. Adrahil's captives would prove more valuable than any treasure from their ship's holds. "How did you come by them?"  
  
"Celebmir, one of father's captains, found their ships dashed upon the rocks not far from our eastern borders," Finduilas said. "He came upon them by night and caught them unaware." She looked out the western window at the sun setting over the harbor and added, "It seems Uninen has not yet forsaken us completely; she looses her husband's fury on those who would harm our people, her loyal petitioners."  
  
Denethor did not put much faith in the old superstitions about the Lords of the West, but Finduilas's words still contained some germ of truth. The attacks on Dol Amroth -- and Gondor, if truth be told -- increased as the years passed. The Lady of Dol Amroth might think only of the families spared from yet another Corsair raid, but Denethor saw the promise of future raids predicted and even prevented. A hundred questions sprang to mind, but Denethor knew Imrahil would tell the story best if allowed to do so in his own fashion. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "What do you know?"  
  
"Not much yet," Adrahil admitted. "We found them ten days ago, and their arrival at this citadel is only two nights past; they are locked away in the cells in my catacombs."  
  
Denethor smiled at that. Gondorians understood the Corsairs less well than the Prince's subjects did, but the Steward knew more than most, and in this matter at least he shared his wisdom willingly with his son. Denethor knew that the Corsairs were no Orcs; the blood of men still beat in their veins, and the fear of death and the dead could still seize them. Sleeping so close to the dead – and the dead of their sworn enemy for generations, no less – would torment them night and day. Yet Denethor knew other ways, surer and quicker, to get the answers both Dol Amroth and Gondor needed. "There are – devices – in the White Tower to loosen the lying tongue," he said. "If you would but send the men, or even their leader, to the Steward –"  
  
"The same has been said of the agents of Mordor," Finduilas interrupted, her voice flat.  
  
Before Denethor could reply, Adrahil said, "Leave the Corsairs to us, lord; we have 'devices', too, that will convince them to betray the secrets your father craves. And I will give the Corsairs no reason to invent sweet lies." When Denethor did not respond, Adrahil continued, "As for their leader, we found none. Fourteen rowmen, a ship's cook, and the captain's young orderly; no one else. I doubt any of them know much."  
  
"Still, they have each seen the Jade City," Denethor said, "and even the common knowledge of their people may save whole companies of our men."  
  
"We will interrogate them, of course," Finduilas said. "But if you must torture someone, you should find the man who wore this." She walked over to the chest against the wall and produced a tunic, scarlet linen with a serpent preparing to strike embroidered in black silk over the right breast. The hem was torn and smeared with dirt and blood, but Denethor could see that, in proper repair, the tunic would be fit for a prince.  
  
"You say the captain's orderly was among the survivors?" Denethor asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued, "If the servant is here, the lord cannot be far away. Their captain did not perish; I am certain of it. Perhaps he is hiding in the marshes, or has found refuge in some abandoned barn or boathouse." His eyes gleamed with an eagerness that few had ever seen. "If any would hide away as soon as he could, it would be the captain. You must search your country with all haste, before he can cross Anduin and seek his way home."  
  
Adrahil's expression hardened. "The steward's edict carry little weight in these lands. I would not grant even your father the right to order my knights so."  
  
"Yet Dol Amroth should remember she is not unaffected by her neighbors worries," Denethor replied tersely. "What is good for Gondor is good for you as well."  
  
The two lords stared at each other, neither breaking the silence for several seconds. At last Finduilas said, "Possession must count for something. Is there naught that either of you would sacrifice, to retain the prisoners we already have?"  
  
Denethor looked into her eyes, and he noticed what wisdom lurked behind her beauty. _Adrahil does well to include her in matters of state, whatever the other lords of father's court might say._ Blinded by his goal, Denethor had somehow lost sight of the prince's pride, and his fear of losing his precious power to their larger neighbor. "Very well," Denethor said, "I am sure father will allow you to retain the prisoners until we find their captain. "When we find him, however, we must question him in Gondor."  
  
Adrahil nodded. "That seems fair. And I am sure my captains would welcome Gondor's help in their search, if the steward cares to send them."  
  
"Gondor shall see it done," Denethor said, risking a small smile. Suddenly a thought occurred to him: Thorongil, the newly-sworn captain who swore he had served in Rohan for years. Yet there was something about Adrahil -- the shape of his nose, the glistening silver of his eyes, the timbre of his voice – that reminded Denethor of Thorongil. Was it possible?  
  
"How long passed between the wreck and your captain's finding them, do you think?" Denethor asked.  
  
"I spoke with Celebmir yesterday afternoon," Finduilas volunteered, "and he said that the area he found them in is near uninhabited, and that they could have stayed there unnoticed for weeks. Their food stores were running low, at any point."  
  
So it was possible. Not likely, but certainly possible. Adrahil would search the coast, and Denethor would keep his eyes open as well. Wherever the seventeenth Corsair hid, they would find him out.


	2. Ocean & Danger - RiverOtter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

Ocean  
  
A full masted ship  
Seventeen cunning corsairs  
Raiding the shore line  
  
Danger  
  
Black sails in the wind  
Seventeen cunning corsairs  
Terrifying towns


	3. Tale of the Cunning Corsairs - by Raksha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

The Tale of the Cunning Corsairs  
  
  
Seventeen bold Corsairs whiled away the hours, awaiting the signal to disembark from Pelargir and open black sails on  the Anduin, gateway to the  rich City we came to plunder:  from Sarkanga, the old man of the ship, to  little Azraf, the cabin boy and the mighty Berkim, who drummed the slaves'  oars.  And I, Nallo of Umbar, quartermaster.  We had such hopes, such  dreams of roaring into that white stronghold of  our ancient enemy, of  seizing gold and pale-skinned maids for pleasure and profit.  And to see  the haughty, elf-blooded Gondorim humbled was a dream burned into the hearts of  our fathers and their fathers' fathers before them as long as the Corsairs had  counted the years.  
  
Then a mist came up.  No true mist, for it was in truth a great and  terrible wind of ghosts, ghosts who flew up onto all the ships of our proud  fleet.  There were screams, and the sounds of our mates' scimitars and  knifes, striking at nothing.  And our crewmates fell, gibbering in horror  and dying on the deck, or leaping overboard.  The things in the mist; they  grinned as they bore down on us.  I thought I saw a few living men striking  out from among that ghostly horde, if they were in truth men - one was very  tall, with a grey cloak, a white face, and eyes that burned silver in the  moonlight.  Ai, we could not stand against them!  
  
Seventeen Corsairs choked back our terror and decided to live.   Cunning rather than courage ruled our hearts.  We dove over the side, and  swam for shore, then ran for our lives, cold, wet, desperate to be away...  
  
We made it to Pelargir, where, hungry and miserable, we surrendered to the  townsmen.  They needed extra hands to rebuild; and, because we had  surrendered, they let us live in servitude, until, a year later, they released  us.  
  
I never returned home to Umbar.  I work in a dockside tavern, and hope  to wed the Tavernier's daughter - she will have me, but her father is less certain. Sarkanga works for a sail-maker down the street.  Little  Azraf was adopted by a family who had lost their sons.  Berkim was hung  after he knifed a merchant.  The other thirteen Corsairs who fled with us  during the Night of Ghosts are scattered throughout Pelargir; living well for  the most part.    
  
Sometimes I miss the old life; the time when we Corsairs were feared from  Harandor to Andrast; and I answered to my captain instead of a fat Gondorian  innkeep.  But whenever I turn to the sea, I hear the shivering wind and my  skin crawls, my heart quails.  I can't forget the sight of it, the awful  sight, of the dead things, borne on that wind to kill the living.  I don't  know if my father, dead since I was a lad, would curse me for cowardice, or  laugh at my cunning.  I just know that I'm still alive, and glad of  it.


	4. Getting Ideas - by Gwynnyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

As the conference progressed, Yando studied the man seated across the table.  After reading the reports from the sixteen previous meetings where Denethor had been Gondor's representative, Yando knew that Umbar's policy of sending a different ambassador to every negotiation both annoyed Denethor and took a disproportionate share of the resources of Gondor's spies as Denethor sought to gain advantage by discovering whom he would be facing.  
  
"Unfortunately, ships from Umbar have been seen raiding Gondor's coast," Denethor asserted.    
  
Assuming a concerned expression, Yando leaned forward to give an impression of sympathy.  "Pirates.  It is indeed hard when pirates raid freely. Umbar also suffers much from these attacks."  
  
The man on Denethor's left, who had been introduced as Captain Thorongil, spoke abruptly.  "I saw the ships. They were identical to those that brought you here."  
  
"Stolen."  Yando shook his head sorrowfully.  "Umbar has had many losses from these pirates.  As you have. But what can be done?"    
  
Yando tried his best to look bland but concerned as he carefully watched how this sally was received.  He doubted if this strategy would fool the Gondorians, but if they accepted his coming suggestion of a joint pirate patrol, Umbar might learn much.  
  



	5. Seventeen - by Ainu Laire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

Seventeen  
  
  All cultures have a digit  
  That brings bad luck, you see.  
  For hobbits, eighty is it  
  And elves, seventy-three.  
  
  Gondorians fear sixty  
  And dwarves, it's thirteen.  
  Orcs loathe one hundred fifty,  
  As for Corsairs? Seventeen.  
  
  Once upon a dreary eve  
  Set sail one lonely ship.  
  Soon as they took their leave  
  Their luck started to slip.  
  
  They sailed through ghastly storms  
  And lost their bows and knives.  
  And enemies attacked in swarms  
  They nearly lost their lives!  
  
  The cunning captain of the boat  
  Thought of their bad luck.  
  And then came from his throat:  
  "Holy mother- hey, a duck!"  
  
  Even though the duck meant naught,  
  He still knew the solution.  
  He would now not be fraught  
  And would rid of this pollution.  
  
  For he spotted upon his turf  
  That there were seventeen men.  
  And as he gazed upon the surf,  
  He thought up 'Operation: Ben'.  
  
  So he told his men this plan  
  And they all shouted in glee.  
  And then they grabbed Ben, a man,  
  And threw him into the Sea.  
  
  Hereafter safe, this group of brothers,  
  This now wise band of sixteen  
  Spreads this message to all others:  
  Beware number seventeen!


	6. Untitled - by Wolfwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

_"Eärnil I [] laid siege by sea and land to Umbar <http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/resources/places_view.cfm?plid=234>,_  
and took it [] But Eärnil did not long survive his triumph. He was lost with many ships and men in a great storm off Umbar. "  
*The Return of the King*, LoTR Appendix A, *Annals of the Kings and Rulers:  
Gondor and the Heirs of Anárion*  
  
  
  
Seventeen ships; all they had managed to salvage of the glory of Umbar.  He spat.  The enemy had left them little enough, but it would do.  
  
The ship groaned under the fury of the storm; he ignored the crew's frantic work, turning his glass back to the distant ships.  
  
"This is madness!"  His brother had come above, it seemed; no one else would think to protest their final chance for vengeance.  "We still have time to find harbor.  We will never survive this storm."  
  
He lowered the glass at last and turned to smile at the youngster.  "Neither will he."


	7. Gloating - by Agape4Gondor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

## Gloating

Silent was the night and the ship that sailed down the Anduin.  The plan had been perfected the night before.  Slip up the river under cover of night, hit the little town quickly, despoil it and its women, take new slaves to replace those that had died, and fly before sunrise.  The men rubbed their hands in delight. Gondorians had always been such easy prey and so easy to deceive.   
  
As the ship approached, Rangers slid into the cold chill of the great river.  A skiff, filled with the enemy, pushed off from the boat.  Faramir gave the call of the peregrine and the men slowly wended their way towards the dinghy, holding bamboo reeds to breath through.     
  
Swiftly, men were pulled from the craft at one fell swoop so that not a cry for help could pass their lips.   
  
"Thought they were **_seventeen cunning corsairs_** , didn't they?" gloated Faramir. 


End file.
